Out Of Her League, An Erotic Romance Read Online Free

worn leather journal and began recording his observations. “You may clean the wounds, Nurse.”
    The woman lifted a fresh cloth, applied a pinch of a powdery substance to it, then lightly dampened it. She rubbed it between her palms until she’d warmed the cloth and raised a light lather. She moved closer to James and gently placed it against his shoulder. The fragrance of lavender drifted around her, whether from the soapy cloth, or her own personal scent, James couldn’t be sure. He only knew that he liked it.
    His curiosity peaked, he studied her face—or rather, what he could see of her features beneath the ridiculous lace cap she wore. He couldn’t make out the color of her eyes at all, just a heavy fringe of sooty lashes. Her skin was pale and smooth as porcelain. He noted the delicate pink blush that softened her cheeks, the pleasing plumpness of her lips, her slightly square jawline.
    Though her hair had been scrupulously twisted into a tight knot at the base of her neck, one thick golden tendril had managed to escape. He found himself battling a ridiculous urge to touch it, to wrap that golden, bouncy curl around his finger and give it a playful tug.
    Following the slender column of her throat, his gaze moved lower. At some point during the physician’s examination she had slipped off her cape to reveal a simple gown of pale blue muslin. Tied around her waist was an apron of the same crisp white lace of her cap. James had seen nurses dressed in similar attire assisting surgeons in the Crimea, as well as in hospital corridors throughout London. No doubt the effect was meant to be dutiful and demure.
    It didn’t work on Nurse Riley. No matter how badly she wanted to disguise her body, her curves would not be hidden beneath the drabness of her gown. She looked as lush and alluring as a Rubens portrait come to life. The ripe swell of her breasts strained against the thin muslin fabric. The absence of exaggerated bustles and crinolines beneath her skirts—a nod to hospital efficiency, no doubt—allowed him an enticing suggestion of her natural form.
    Her apron, he noted as she turned, was tied in a full, bouncy bow in the back, as though her beautiful round ass was a party gift to be unwrapped and enjoyed.
    As she leaned forward to apply a dry cloth to his shoulder, her breath fanned his neck and her breasts lightly brushed his bare chest. James stiffened and pulled away, but he was too late. The lower portion of his anatomy, which had already stirred with interest at the nurse’s proximity, began to harden, causing a distinct bulge in the crotch of his trousers.
    The nurse, alert to of the subtle rigidity of his body, drew back. “Am I hurting you?”
    “No.” Seizing conversation as a potential means of distracting his body from its unseemly reaction to the woman, he blurted out, “I was thinking of a Rubens painting I’d seen in the National Gallery.”
    “Oh?” she said absently, surveying her work. “You enjoy visiting museums?”
    “Not particularly.”
    “I see.” Her touch faltered, but only for a moment, as though she were accustomed to that sort of babbling idiocy from her patients. Perhaps she was. After all, it was highly unlikely he was the only man whose cock responded to her gentle ministrations the way his did. A preposterous surge of possessive irritation rushed through him at the thought.
    Having finished caring for the wound on his shoulder, she reached for a small footstool and seated herself between his knees. She drew his injured ankle onto her lap, rolled his cotton breeches up to his knee, and began cleansing his lower limb. Her wrists, he noted, were finely boned, her hands soft and delicate. She worked with slow, methodical care, lathering his calf and ankle. The action shouldn’t have been stimulating, but it was. Incredibly so.
    Her head was bent down, her luscious lips pursed in absorption of her task. His eyes locked on the gentle sway of her breasts as she moved. He